The Ghost and the Halloween Haunt

  The Ghost and the Halloween Haunt

  (Haunting Danielle, Book 22)

  A Novel

  By Bobbi Holmes

  Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey

  * * *

  Copyright © 2019 Bobbi Holmes

  Robeth Publishing, LLC

  All Rights Reserved.

  * * *

  This novel is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to places or actual persons,

  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  www.robeth.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  The Ghost and the Christmas Spirit

  Haunting Danielle Newsletter

  Haunting Danielle Series

  Bobbi Holmes

  Unlocked Hearts Series

  The Coulson Series

  Also by Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

  Dedicated to my husband, Don.

  For always encouraging me to follow my dreams.

  I love you.

  One

  Perched high in the Douglas fir, their bare feet dangling from a branch, the two ghosts looked down at the mourners. Although, technically speaking, those gathered for the funeral could hardly be called mourners. Annabelle and Kat doubted any of the people below had ever met the deceased, considering they had passed decades earlier. Both were murdered for the sake of greed and jealousy, and only recently had their remains been discovered and finally put to rest.

  Annabelle and Kat looked as if they could be granddaughter and grandmother—although Annabelle, who appeared to be in her early twenties, had died before her elderly looking companion had even been born.

  “Mama would’ve boxed my ears had I showed up at a funeral wearing slacks,” Annabelle declared, taking note of all the women below wearing pants instead of dresses.

  “It’s more casual now than it was in your day,” Kat reminded her. It was not the first time they’d had this conversation. After spending countless hours confined to a cemetery, there were rarely new topics to discuss.

  “That’s obvious. I don’t know when the last time was that I saw any woman or girl wearing—or carrying—a respectable pair of wrist gloves. Of course, I suppose white gloves would look silly with slacks.”

  “Even in my time we wore white gloves. I had the loveliest pair with a little row of pearls along their pinky seams.” Kat smiled at the memory. “I imagine the mothers of many of the younger women here today would tell you they also wore white gloves at one time.” With a sigh she added, “Styles change.”

  “I don’t like it,” Annabelle grumbled. “And hats. I rarely see pretty hats these days. Just straw hats to keep the sun out of their eyes. Nothing fashionable.”

  Kat peeked up at the straw hat perched on her own head and gave a chuckle yet reserved comment.

  “Did I tell you I met Maisy Faye Morton right before she moved on?” Annabelle asked. The funeral they were attending was for Maisy Faye Morton and her fiancé, Kenneth Bakken.

  “Yes, dear. You have mentioned that—numerous times.”

  “I’m just glad they finally found her body.” Annabelle studied the crowd below.

  “Dreadful affair,” Kat said, adding several tsk, tsk, tsks to her comment.

  Poorly concealed in the evergreen branches of the tree, the ghosts might be noticed by an attending medium had one bothered to look up. Which none had done thus far.

  “Have you seen Virginia?” Annabelle asked, looking around. “She usually likes watching these.”

  Before Kat could respond, Annabelle squealed, “Oh, it’s a baby!” She pointed down to a stroller being pushed by a redheaded woman. “I do adore babies. Abe and I were going to have four. Two boys and two girls. I’m tempted to pop down and say hello. At least with a baby I’ll get a response.”

  “I imagine if you pop down now, more than the little one will notice.” Kat then pointed to the three women now standing under a nearby shade tree with the baby. One was the redheaded woman who had been pushing the stroller moments earlier. “The brunette in the middle, that is Danielle Boatman.”

  Annabelle squinted her eyes and leaned forward, staring intently at the woman. “You mean Danielle Marlow now.” Annabelle shook her head in disbelief. She still could not get used to the idea Walt Marlow had not just managed to leap back into the living world, but he was married again. And then, as if a thought suddenly occurred to her, she turned to Kat and said, “That must mean Walt Marlow is here somewhere!”

  Kat shrugged. “I suppose he is.”

  Annabelle quickly scanned the crowd. With a gasp she pointed to a man below. “It’s him!” She then shook her head and said, “I should have known it might be him. Look, he’s the only man down there wearing a proper hat. Not a silly baseball cap that seems to be all the rage.”

  Kat stared down at the tall man wearing the fedora hat. It sat cockily on his dark head, a perfect companion to his tailored three-piece suit. He was undoubtably the most formally dressed man in the crowd. He turned in her direction, yet did not look up. She caught a glimpse of his handsome profile.

  With curious eyes, Annabelle studied Walt from afar. “You suppose it’s true what they say? He can see ghosts?”

  “According to Eva he can,” Kat reminded her.

  “Oh, Eva…” Annabelle rolled her eyes and groaned.

  “I don’t understand why you have such a problem with Eva,” Kat said. “It’s hardly her fault.”

  “It just doesn’t seem fair. You and I are stuck here in this cemetery while Eva is free to gallivant all over the countryside!”

  “Death, as life, is not always fair,” Kat reminded her.

  “Oh hooey,” Annabelle scoffed.

  “And no one is making you stay here. You are free to move on.”

  “You know why I can’t. Eva is free to move on too—and free to traipse all around town. Heavens, she’s even free to leave town!” Annabelle grumbled.

  “We each have our own path. I suppose whatever Eva is meant to do on this plane goes beyond the confines of this cemetery.”

  “And ours doesn’t?” Annabelle asked.

  “Apparently not. And I do appreciate how Eva comes around regularly now that Angela has moved on. It’s nice to have someone reliable keeping us informed. Hard to depend on those souls passing through to give us updates on the living. Always in a rush.”

  “I suppose.” Annabelle shrugged and looked back down at Walt. “It is so strange to think he is actually alive now. All those years—decades—I waited for his spirit to come. I wanted to make him tell me. I can’t move on until I know.”

  “You knew he was confined to
Marlow House. It’s not like he could drop by the cemetery for a chat.”

  “I assumed he would eventually decide to move on. And as we both know, spirits more often than not visit their grave before doing so,” Annabelle explained.

  “He did come to talk to Angela before she moved on,” Kat reminded her.

  “Yes, I know. By then he was already alive. And I didn’t even realize he was at the cemetery until he was ready to leave. Not to mention Angela was here at the time. I didn’t want to talk to him in front of her. He left before I had a chance to approach him alone.”

  “Well, he’s here now.” Kat nodded toward the subject of their conversation.

  “Oh yes, I can just imagine how that conversation would turn out,” Annabelle scoffed. “Especially if it’s true what they say—Marlow is surrounded by a number of mediums. I seriously doubt he would actually tell me the truth if I ask him in front of an audience—in front of his wife. Of course he would lie. Does he really want the friends he has made in his new life to know what he is capable of?”

  “Annabelle,” Kat said gently, “if you are so certain, then I really don’t understand why you don’t just move on. What are you waiting for? It is time.”

  “Because I can’t,” Annabelle said softly. “Something is keeping me here. I just know it’s tied to Walt Marlow and what I must ask him. I need to do it for Abe.”

  “If you don’t want to ask him here, there is another option,” Kat said.

  Annabelle frowned questioningly.

  “What’s just a week away?” Kat asked.

  Annabelle groaned and rolled her eyes. “Halloween.”

  Kat laughed. “Every year I’ve suggested Halloween. And every year I get the same response. You’ve been hanging around here for almost a hundred years waiting for Walt’s spirit to show up. What are you going to do, wait another hundred years for his live self to show up alone?”

  “I don’t suspect Walt Marlow will actually live for a hundred years. Of course, who knows. Maybe he isn’t just a medium now, maybe he’s immortal,” Annabelle suggested.

  “I seriously doubt that. But I am beginning to think you don’t actually want to talk to him.”

  “It’s just that—well, it seemed so forward, me popping into Marlow House uninvited on Halloween. My mother always told me a proper young woman does not just show up at a man’s doorstep.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, you are no longer a proper young woman. You are a ghost,” Kat reminded her.

  Annabelle shrugged.

  “What are you talking about?” Virginia asked when she suddenly appeared, sitting next to Kat on the end of the branch.

  “Halloween,” Annabelle told her.

  “Are you going somewhere this year?” Virginia asked.

  “I just reminded Annabelle it was her chance to see Walt Marlow. Talk to him,” Kat explained.

  “He’s here now,” Virginia said in a quiet voice. “I saw him. And he saw me.”

  “Did he recognize you?” Annabelle asked.

  “He smiled at me when he walked by. But I don’t believe he recognized me. Not sure why he would. That was an awful long time ago. And I don’t believe for a moment he thought I was a ghost.”

  The three sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the crowd below as it began to disperse. Many of the mourners headed to the parking lot. Finally, Virginia broke the silence.

  “Halloween…I forgot it was almost here. It comes and goes before I have time to think about it. I told myself last year to watch for the changes in the trees. They would tell me when it was almost here again,” Virginia whispered. The two other spirits turned to her and stared.

  “What are you saying?” Annabelle asked.

  “Perhaps I should look at it again. I wonder sometimes if there is something I have forgotten. It has been so long.” Virginia turned to Annabelle and added, “Unlike you, when I venture out, I have no one to look for but myself. I think you should go to Marlow House this Halloween. Find Abe.”

  Two

  It was a peculiar sight. The infant, bundled securely in a blue baby blanket, seemingly floated from one end of the Marlow House living room to the next and back again, while Lily Miller Bartley half-heartedly attempted to keep up with the adult conversation. They were discussing the final preparations for the upcoming Marlow Haunted House, which was to open on Friday and run until Halloween, the following Tuesday.

  It was difficult for Lily to focus. She kept looking back to her son and cringing, fearful something might happen and he would suddenly fall to the floor. But then she would glance at Walt, who sat with Danielle on the sofa, and he would flash her a smile and give her a reassuring nod, letting her know he was backup, and he would let nothing bad happen to Connor Daniel Bartley, who had just fallen fast asleep.

  “Evan is going to come over tomorrow and help us finish up with the decorations,” Danielle said as she looked over the list of to-do items on the yellow legal pad of paper in her hands. Glancing up from her notes, she smiled at Marie Nichols, who lovingly paced the floor with the sleeping bundle. Had Marie been alive, Danielle would never have approved of the ninety-one-year-old woman walking around her living room holding a sleeping infant, fearful she might fall or stumble. But now that she was dead, it seemed as if there were a variety of things Marie could once again do.

  Everyone in the room—Walt and Danielle Marlow, Chris Johnson (aka Chris Glandon), Heather Donovan, and Eva Thorndike could see Marie. Everyone except Lily. While Lily knew Marie was there—carrying her son—she couldn’t see the ghost, which was why the scene made her far more uncomfortable than it made anyone else in the room. Lily also could not see Eva. That was because Eva, like Marie, was a spirit.

  “You don’t suppose Marie might suddenly lose her ability to harness energy?” Lily asked nervously.

  Marie stopped pacing, still holding the sleeping babe tight to her chest, and looked to Lily. “Oh, don’t worry, dear, I won’t let anything happen to this precious boy.” Just the night before Marie had discovered to her delight that Connor was able to see and hear her, as she had been able to see Eva when she was a baby.

  In the next moment Danielle let Lily know what Marie had just said.

  “Are you sure?” Lily squeaked.

  “Danielle, please tell Lily she has nothing to fear,” Eva said. “Spirits—unlike those in the living realm—have limited free will. The universe would never—and I mean never—allow a spirit to drop an innocent babe on the floor. Which means they won’t suddenly pull the plug—so to speak—on Marie’s powers. And it also means innocent babies are relatively protected from any mischief a spirit might attempt to impose. Such as if Marie herself decided to drop dear Connor.”

  “Oh, Eva! I would never do such a thing!” Marie gasped, quickly dropping a kiss on the baby’s forehead.

  “I never said you would, dear,” Eva countered.

  Once again, Danielle repeated for Lily’s benefit what the spirits had just said.

  Pearl Huckabee disliked being called middle-aged. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that she was on a women’s softball team. Okay, maybe it had been about ten years, but she could still throw a mean pitch. Standing just under five seven, willowy thin with gray hair and eyes, someone had once called her wiry. She didn’t like being called wiry any more than she liked being called middle-aged.

  Absently thumbing through the morning newspaper, she thought about her new life in Frederickport, paying scant attention to the printed words on the pages before her. She loved living in what had been her grandmother’s home, bringing back cherished childhood memories. She tried not to think about the human remains that had been recently discovered in her backyard—remains that had been there since before her grandparents had purchased the property. It was rather creepy to realize they had been there when she and her cousins had played in the yard those many years ago. She tried not to dwell on all that unpleasantness.

  “Put it out of your mind, Pearl,” she told h
erself. “That has nothing to do with you or your family.”

  Reaching over to the side table, she picked up her cup of hot tea. Taking a sip, she flipped to the back page of the newspaper. In the next moment an ad caught her attention, and she found herself spitting out the hot liquid, dampening the newspaper as she began to sputter, her eyes never leaving the advertisement.

  The ad was for a Halloween haunted house, which was to begin in just two days—at Marlow House. Slamming the cup back on the saucer and splashing tea all over the side table, Pearl ignored the mess she had just made and continued to stare at the ad, her hands angrily clutching the newspaper.

  “Why are you doing this?” Pearl screeched. “I know why you are doing this! You have more money than you know what to do with. It isn’t for the money!” Pearl shouted to the empty room, her gaze still fixed on the haunted house ad. “You’re doing this to torment me! Getting your revenge because I got your illegal boardinghouse closed down!”

  Standing up, Pearl rolled up the newspaper and shoved it under one arm, holding it there as she marched out of her house, heading next door to give the Marlows a piece of her mind. Perhaps there would be nothing she could do about the haunted house—it seemed the city of Frederickport let the Marlows do just about whatever they wanted—but she wasn’t going to make this easy for them.